A Boyle's Daughter
by AquilaTaleMaster
Summary: The plague is gone. The city of Dunwall has entered a golden time in its dark history, the Empress is titled 'Emily the Wise', and her Lord Protector remains by her side like he was with Jessamine. It is a marvellous time to be alive. So why does Julia Boyle's world feel like it could crumple at her feet?
1. Illusions

_**I don't own Dishonored.**_

"_The child would play in the garden of roses, with her mother's slim hand in hers. The hateful words spoken about the woman were ignored in this garden, as no one can get in, and no one can hurt them. But now the child is a woman, who is unlike her mother. She still plays in the garden, but the roses turned into illusions." _

Illusions

The plague is gone. The city of Dunwall has entered a golden age in its dark history, and the Empress is titled 'Emily the Wise', her faithful Lord Protector by her side like he was with Jessamine. It is a marvellous time to be alive. So why does Julia's world threaten to crumple at her feet?

The party; with all the confetti and happy chatters, made no effort to calm her frying nerves. A glass rests in her slim hand while she swirls it, watching the dark liquid slosh from side to side of the crystal glass. The sweet aroma of the imported wine rises into her nostrils. Her lips are just an inch away from the edge, but that is where they stayed. Drinking would make her thoughts unclear, and she wouldn't want that.

The two aristocrats with her are busily gossiping away, oblivious to the young woman's worried face. They either do not know or do not care. She thought –hoped- it was the former, and took a small sip of wine to ease herself. She shouldn't care what these _inbred mutts _thought of her. She is worth more than any of them ever hoped to be, or at least that is what her Aunt Waverly told her.

"_You are the heir to the Boyle fortune," _she would tell the young child. _"You are more precious than these back-stabbing rats."_

At the time, the child did not know what Waverly meant by that, but she does now. She keeps her secrets locked away during times of celebration, wearing a mask of happiness and obliviousness, but she knows that making allies is dangerous. Especially if you make the _wrong _ones. Her mother made the mistake of becoming the Lord Regent's mistress, funding his empire with her mass wealth. Julia's aunts did not like the idea, and were not afraid to voice their concerns. Esma did not listen; she paid the price for it...

The voice of one of her companions breaks her spell of silence. "What do you think Lady Boyle?"

"Hmm?" She blinks, tearing her gaze away from the wine. "Did you say something?"

The man doesn't seem offended by the fact that Julia wasn't listening, he never –and probably never will- find any faults with the woman. In his eyes, she was the light that brought everyone down to one knee. Poor thing she thought, he is completely infatuated with her and it makes her laugh inside. She could play men's heartstrings like the harp Aunt Lydia taught her how to play as a child, and she uses that skill without much remorse, like Aunt Waverly taught her.

The other man scowls at her words. "You could at least pay attention!" He spits, his thick eyebrows knitting together in frustration. "Did you lose your manners or something?"

"Sebastian!" The younger man scolds. "Do not talk to Lady Boyle like that, and in her own home no less!"

Sebastian just snorts and leaves the two alone, seeking more polite company to indulge himself in. Julia watches as he leaves, her pale face showing nothing but boredom, and takes another small sip. She doesn't like Sebastian and he doesn't like her, so the two try to keep away from each other as much as possible, though it is not that hard in the large manor.

The other man –Daniel- just shakes his head disappointedly, locks of brown hair falling in front of his blue eyes. "I'm sorry," He apologizes, leaving the woman alone to go after his friend. Julia just watches again, her mind wandering back to the thoughts of before, and of her mother and Lord Regent.

She only met the man a few times; but they were more than enough for her to like him. He believed in order, in keeping the fabrics of this cursed city secured tightly in his grasp, and he forwarded his belief onto the young girl. _A moment at play is a moment wasted. _He would tell her, showing her books and monitoring her progress in lessons. He would scold her as if he was her father, but he also awarded good behaviour, everything had a purpose in his eyes. However, he wasn't there for her mother when the masked man came, _murdering_ the woman in cold blood and leaving the poor girl emotionally scarred.

She cried for her mother that night, and every night during her childhood.

Julia let out a small cough and rubbed her delicate neck, the feeling of her blood pulsing through her veins reminding her that she still lives, and put her at ease. She was not healthy as a child or as an adult. No, no. Her birth was not all the other children's –excruciating, unnatural, bloodied- and she was thought to be dead within days, but she _survived_ and she _thrived_. Yes, but her mother was told that no more children would come.

Julia is not able to stop blaming herself for that. Not that it matters now.

She sets down the glass and walks across the large ballroom, weaving past the dancers with fluent movements that could be mistaken for dance movements, and reaches the other side of the room. She pushes the double doors open and steps outside; the cold night wind blows and caresses her cheek, leaving a slight numb feeling as she braves the cold. She gracefully walks to the edge of the walkway, looking over the large expanse of land belonging to her name, and takes a deep breath of air. Her coughing sharply increases as she covers her mouth; her chest jerking with every cough and her eyes water.

A soft voice calls out as a hand grazes the heir's shoulder. "You shouldn't be outside Julia," It whispers. "You should be inside."

"I'm fine," She chokes, removing her hand from her mouth and took an unsteady breath. "Just another coughing fit Aunt Lydia."

The hand stroking her shoulder affectionately slowly moved away, joining the other hand across Lydia Boyle's small chest. She looks –no, stares- at the younger Boyle with an expression even Julia couldn't comprehend, nor would she try. If there is someone who she couldn't read like an open book, it is her aunts. She turns back to the land and watches. The grass is freshly cut and rustles in the breeze, similar to waves rolling across the ocean.

She lets out a sigh. "I will be well enough for tomorrow,"

"I know you want to visit the graves, but you have been-"

"I don't care," Julia interrupts. She turns her head slightly and smiles softly, knowing that Lydia only wants to keep her safe, and she loves her family for that. They were spiteful and cold with other aristocrats –or people below their social standard- but no matter what, they looked out for each other. They are all that each other have. Suddenly, a snap similar to a twig being stepped on could be heard from within the dense vegetation. The two women look over to the noise, but neither dared to move, in case the thing jumps from its hiding place.

Julia is the first to move. "Come on," she whispered, softly pulling Lydia back into the manor. "The party is nearly over."

The party did not end, but carried on into the night, much to Julia's annoyance. The aristocrats present took to drinking more wine. Now they were louder –more annoying- and Julia wished for nothing more than to kick everyone out and go to bed. She could not find Waverly though and Lydia was busy entertaining their _guests_.

So she takes to the library, standing next to the fire-place and staring up at the picture, painted by the Tyvian painter and philosophiser; Anton Sokolov. It was Esma, her face hidden away from the world's view and only her ears are the only part of her face that was shown, her blond hair tied up in a tight bun. Julia takes a sip of wine from the crystal glass and continues to stare, a faint smile on her face. Esma was always so beautiful. She remembers how Esma allowed her to brush her golden hair, using the expensive jewelled brush that she got her mother for her birthday. That brush is still in her drawers.

Suddenly, she feels a hand on her shoulder, masculine fingers digging into the silken shirt. She twitches and turns the upper-part of her body. Daniel is standing there, his hair somewhat more messy than usual, and his eyes looked darker.

"Is something wrong Daniel?" she asked. Dark grumbles erupt from his throat and his grip on her shoulder tightens, the only response he coaxes out of Julia is a sharp intake of breath.

"You don't love me do you?" he grumbles again. "Do you?"

Julia tries to move away, but the grip on her shoulder is just too strong. She looks at his scrunched up face again and nearly shrieks at the horror she sees. Staring straight at her was not the man she was just with, but a hooded one with a mask that she still sees in her nightmares. The mask is a grotesque version of a human skull, wires and other contraptions weaving in and out of the cold metal. Please. Please, not _him_.

She let out a breathless cry. "You're not real," she cried, her breathing going border-line hyperventilating. "You're not real!"

He says nothing. Just stares straight into her eyes with ones hidden behind glass covers. She places her hands on his chest and pushes as hard as she could muster, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes while she screams. "Get away! Get away and leave me alone!"

He refuses to move, standing there as if he is just a statue, still staring at Julia's terrified face. Her mind goes blank, and she tries the only thing that she could remember to do. She opened her mouth and let out an ear-splitting scream.

_**Review and tell me whether you liked it or it needs improving.**_


	2. Misunderstanding

"_Sometimes the greatest of tales are produced from the smallest of misunderstandings."_

_Misunderstanding_

Light spills through the open window, lighting up the majestic room with its graceful beams. The bedroom is carefully set up so the light hits the occupant's face, waking her from her dreamful slumber. The bed is in the middle of the room, but the headrest relaxes against the beige wall and the colourful silk drifts down to envelope the sleeper. She awakes slowly at first, before her sapphire eyes looks around the posh room, no one there to greet her with a smile or a tray full with breakfast.

She rubs her head and sighed. "What have I done?"

The memories of last night flows freely in her currently-stressed mind, speaking of how she practically screamed in Daniel Brisby's face and pushed him away, the man falling over and dragging an expensive ornament with him. All eyes were on her then, harsh whispers uttered amongst the nobles, and she could clearly hear them as if they were shouted at her.

_What do you think is wrong with her?_

_Poor Waverly and Lydia, having to deal with their sister's mess._

_Do you think she has Brain Fevers?_

_Come on, the poor woman lost her mother brutally._

_Still..._

She couldn't bear to weather their questioning stares or their quiet insults, and ran passed all of them, not looking back as her legs pushed her up the stairs. Waverly watched as she went, before shaking her head disapprovingly and told one of her guards to escort the guests back to their awaiting transports. The crowds slowly seeped out of the door and the aftermath could clearly be seen, shattered glass from where the ornament collided with the cold marble sparkled in the whale-oil powered lights.

Waverly scrunched up her nose and ordered the maids to clean it up, retreating to her room to retire for the night. Lydia however bid good-night to the servants and followed her sister's foot-steps up the grand staircase; her gloved hand barely touched the smooth handrail. She turned down the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythmic _click click click, _and then stopped in front of an oaken door.

Softly, the soft sound of a woman crying could be heard from within, so quiet that Lydia thought she was imagining it at first. But surely enough the cries existed. Her hand was brought up to the door and moved to knock on it, but she began to reconsider the gesture and allowed her limb to fall beside her side again, leaving for her room without giving her time to regret not knocking.

The rest of night Julia cried out for the soft words of Esma, but they never came, nor would they ever come again.

Pulling the sheets back to expose her night-gown, Julia rubbed her red eyes with the back of her hand and stands. The beautiful mirror that shines in the sunlight looked at her, her reflection telling the young Boyle of what she currently is, a young child in the body of a young woman.

Frowning at the mirror as if it had insulted her, Julia grabs her silken dressing-gown and tosses it onto the spotless glass, hiding the reflection from her eyes. She moves to get herself ready for the big day, when the door suddenly opens and her aunts briskly walk in. Lydia looks sympathetic but Waverly looks furious.

The younger of the two spat. "What was that little performance last night with the Bisby boy?"

"Excuse me?" Julia gasped, her eyes looking at Waverly and then Lydia. The elder nodded at her with a small -almost sad- smile. The memory wormed its way into her mind and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her eyes looking down-cast at the floor. "I-I saw him. I _saw _him."

That makes Lydia raise her eyebrows in confusion. "Who? Who have you saw?"

Julia feels her tears start to well as her vision blurred, her hand rises to wipe them away and an unsteady breath came through her parted lips. "The man. The man who-"

"Where?!" Waverly snapped, her petite hands gripping into her niece's shoulders. Julia looks terrified of her wild look in her eyes, wincing as sharp nails dug into her shoulders slightly. "Where did you see him Julia?!"

Julia's eyes looked up into Waverly's. "He was in front of me, when I was in the library." She explained. Waverly's wild look turns to confusion, her lips slightly parted as she tries to make sense of what her niece just told her. "He did nothing, just stared at me with that mask."

"Julia..." Lydia started, before trailing off as she tries to figure out how to tell the young Boyle. Waverly is obviously annoyed by her sister's unwillingness to just tell Julia and sighs out loud.

"The man wasn't there Julia," she explained, releasing Julia's shoulder and crossing her arms across her chest. "It was you and Daniel."

Her mind goes blank. Her expression showing nothing. She tries to look back at the incident but she couldn't for the life of her piece Daniel in the masked man shape hole in her memory. It couldn't have been. He was _there. _She saw _him. _

The fabrics of sanity are starting to unravel in Julia's mind, causing the woman to push her aunts out of her room and slam the door, locking it as quickly as she could. She leans her head against the wood and took in a sharp breath, her breathing becoming shallow and abnormal. Her knees could not keep her body up and collapses, her body smacking against the cold and unforgiving floor. She lays there, her hand splayed across the door and presses her palm down, staring at her manicured fingernails.

She felt something inside her snap and the crying resumes.

-f-

When Julia is finally able to pull her sanity back and cease her crying, she quickly gets herself dressed in a black outfit matching Esma's last party clothes. The jacket sat snugly on her body and complements her curves, showing off her chest and hips. Her white shirt looks like a dash of milk in her coffee that she has every morning. Her shoes with heels project her presence, with the rhythmic clicking practically hanging in the air.

She sits in front of the mirror, which is uncovered from the dressing gown that she thrown at it earlier, and stared at her reflection whilst bringing a jewelled hair-brush through her dark hair. If there is something that bothers her so much, it is the fact that she did not know where she got her hair from, as it is the opposite of her mother's and aunts' golden locks.

Setting the hairbrush down, Julia grabbed her hair and twisted it into an almost painfully tight bun, and kept it in place carefully. Satisfied, she smiles briefly and stands, opening the top left drawer and places the brush inside. Closing it again, she locks it with key and twirls it in her hand, placing it in her hollow statue that Daniel gave her. She does not see him in a romantic light but she did not protest when he lavishes gifts upon her, especially the more expensive ones. The statue was one of her favourites.

She does not eat this morning, instead just passing the food all together and made her way for the rail-cart, Waverly and Lydia hot on her heels. They said nothing to each other. A single word is not uttered on the journey to the Boyle family graves, with Julia just looking out the window and watches the transformation of the busy city to the peaceful countryside. She is pleased that this is where Esma has been put to rest.

Lydia shuffled around nervously the closer they got to the graves, her eyes watching down on Julia as if she would just have a fit and die. Too much stress she wants to say to the young woman, your heart can't take that. But she says nothing of course, who is she to keep a person away from their mother's grave?

But Waverly instead spoke. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh?" Julia replied, still watching the world pass by outside her window. "Why do you say that?"

"You are a sick child," Waverly frowned. "We don't know if your heart can take the stre-"

"My heart is fine." The conversation ended there. The journey ends there as well, as the rail-cart has reached the graves. The door opened and for the first time that day, Julia feels just how cold it is outside, her hands pulling her jacket closer around her slim form. All of the Boyle women stepped out of the rail-cart, and eyed the entrance wearily. When they do enter the land reserved for their dead, Julia leads them to the one that holds Esma.

It is beautiful.

The stone is clean, fresh and white. It looks pure and untouched. Kneeling before it, Julia smiles softly and lays down flowers into the dirt, staring at the name that is engraved into the almost marble-like stone.

_Esma Boyle_

It doesn't say her birth-date or when she died. It does not need to in Julia's eyes. No one needed to know when the woman was born or when she was murdered. Pale fingers graze against the stone and a sigh comes from her, nothing else following pursuit. She thought back to the incident and frowned deeply, her eyebrows lowering against her eyes.

She did not know that the murder was just a misunderstanding.


	3. Love

"_Love is not always happy endings; it can cause the most sorrowful endings of all."_

_Love_

They have returned from the graves; everyone trudging in with exhaustion of the day. The maids and servants scampers like little puppies waiting for attention. Julia waves them away from her and moves slowly up the stairs, not bothering to listen to Waverly's orders or Lydia's questions regarding her health. She wants her bed. She wants to be left alone.

The hallway is unnervingly quiet. The windows are open and the soft wind blows in, the curtains floating as if they weigh nothing. The practiced compliments and greetings could be heard from the foyer below, but there is no one up here. Strange. Julia continues to walk up to her room, her eyes glancing back and forth at the paintings that rest on the walls. She gazes and once she reaches the door of her bedroom, she raises her hand to the handle. She stops.

"La la la la..."

What?

"Oh the navy men came running..."

Who is that?

"Oh the navy men came home..."

Someone is singing, their voice soft and tender, almost like an unseen angel singing her song of hope. But this is no angel. Someone is in her room. Someone is in _her room._

"They saw my deep blue ey-"

The door slams open and Julia barges in, her eyes narrow in fury before they set upon the scene in front of her. It is a maid. Her chocolate eyes widen and her slim hands caressing her dark hair, what is brushing through the locks shocks the Boyle heir. It is her mother's hairbrush.

The maid, no older than nineteen, places the hairbrush back on the table and stammers. "My-My Lady! I... I can-"

"Get out." The words are full of malice, almost threatening to slice the girl in two. Julia's body shakes with uncontrollable rage as she grinds her teeth again. "Get. Out!"

No words could pass the maid's lips. Instead, she lowers her head and quickly runs out of the door, muttering apologies along the way. It doesn't matter now. Julia checked the room, seeing invisible markings that the maid has left in her wake; the smashed statue that once held her key screaming the loudest of what she had done. The key is gone.

She feels her knees buckle, her hand trying to keep the young woman afloat. "Oh Outsider no..."

She slowly turns her head, glaring at the hairbrush resting innocently on the table. She stumbles over to it and places both hands on the smooth wood, her breathing coming out as short gasps. She looks at the hairbrush, a few strands of dark hair that is lighter than her own visible in-between the bristles, and slightly drags her fingertips along the bejewelled handle. Looking away, darkness starts appearing in the corners of her eyes, her chest pounding wave after wave of agony and nausea through her entire body. She couldn't...

She couldn't stand any longer. Her vision is fading and her chest threatens to cave in on itself, the last thing she could feel is her body connecting with the floor. The last thing she could hear was her aunts' frantic footsteps coming closer to her and their screams. She sees nothing.

It is her aunt Waverly who calls out. "Julia!"

Darkness.

-f-

"Oh the navy men came running." The voice singing the words was soft. Gentle and soothing. The young Julia listened in on the words, smiling as the hairbrush slowly moved through her hair, almost matching the pace of the song perfectly. "Oh the navy men came home."

The woman sitting behind, long legs encasing the young child from the outside world, was singing very beautifully as she continued to drag the hairbrush through the black locks. Occasionally, her delicate fingers followed in the brush's wake, caressing the lush strands of hair. Her own was blond, shining magnificently in the warm sunlight. The garden grass acted like a cushion for them. The birds and the butterflies acted like the entertainment. They were happy.

A small hand grabbed the woman's wrist, and pale blue eyes stared up. "Mother, why do I have to stay inside all the time?"

"Because Julia..." Esma started, her nose buried into the young girl's head affectionately. "You are a sick child; we can't risk you getting seriously ill."

Julia gave a small frown. "But I won't mother, I'm a strong girl. You tell me that all the time."

Esma smiled against her child's head. "I know, I know. But if I were to lose you..." she trailed off, unable to bring herself to finish her sentence. Julia seemingly did not notice, or she did not let on that she did. Instead, she picked up a few flowers that were growing off to the side near them, and began to weave their steams together. The brushing continued, accompanied with the weaving of flower stems. Neither one thought of going back inside, nor did they worry about Waverly finding them out. They sat. And weaved. And sang.

Tweet.

Tweet.

Tweet.

The calls of the birds rang through the summer sky. Small blue birds happily soaring through the air, nothing hindering their wings or flight. Julia smiled as she watched them, her hands busily working away at her secret masterpiece. Esma carried on with brushing and singing, only occasionally stopping to watch the world live on. Finally, her daughter stood up and presented her mother with a gift; a flower crown.

She added with a smile. "I made this for you, mommy!"

"It's beautiful!" Esma gasped. Her hands drifted over Julia's as they moved to place the crown on the queen's head. Queen of their own little world where no one said mean things, and no one murdered each other. It was just a child's world. It didn't mean anything when the child would grow up. People said things and people killed each other, no matter how much she wished for it to not be.

She didn't know those would be numbered, until it was too late.

-f-

When Julia awakes slowly, the familiar feeling of a warm hand on her forehead could be felt, causing hope to rise in her stomach before she finally comes too. Lydia is sitting there, a look of pure relief takes over her once-anguished features, and she sighs softly. "You scared us Julia..."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a gravelly croak. "I didn't mean too."

A soft smile twitches at the corners of Lydia's lips. "I know." Removing her hand from the younger's forehead, Lydia stands and turns to the door, her hand touching the object as she whispers instructions to the maid. Julia does not bother to listen. She knows them like an actor would know the lines off his script, reciting them in her head while they were spoken by her aunt. The maid nods softly and passes the Boyle woman. Slowly, Lydia disappears into the vast maze of hallways, the tell-tale click-click-click of her shoes slowly fading away.

The maid then speaks. "Your meal will be ready in a few moments Lady Boyle."

A nod. Julia says no more, as there is no more that needs to be said. After what happened mere hours ago, her aunts will surely tighten their invisible grip on her, slowly suffocating the woman with rules and regulations that she _must_ follow. She didn't ask for this. She didn't ask to be a sick child who everyone would cuddle and kiss her pain away, no one could do that. N one ever will.

Surely, the food on the silver platter comes just minutes after, carried by one of her personal servants. He places it on her lap and takes away the lid, showcasing the delicious food just for the woman's picking. He bows and leaves, not sparing a single syllable to Julia, not that she minds. The food quenches her protesting stomach and slowly but surely, her strength starts to return.

As she eats, the maid looks at the spot where the statue was knocked over. "It is a shame my Lady, that truly was a beautiful statue." She sighs. Julia ceases her eating and glances over to the maid, her nose crinkled and her chin held high.

"Yes," she started. "But came from a wretched man."

Giggling, the maid nods and turns to her master, curtsying politely before leaving the room to carry on with her duties. Finished with the food, Julia places it by her side and removed the duvets from her body, standing slowly so she doesn't wind up feeling dizzy. The room is cleaned. The shards from the broken statue cleared away and look as if it never existed. The key however, could not be found and is most likely lost forever.

Running her finger through her hair, Julia snorts. "My aunts better have fired that maid. How _dare _she touches my mother's hairbrush?! Defiling it with her mere presence?!"

As she continues to rant and rave at the empty space in front her, her back facing the window as she once again looks at the mirror, she suddenly spots a small letter cleverly hidden in the mirror's frame. The maid mustn't have spotted it, or mistook it for one of Julia's love letters that she never responded to. Plucking it from the frame, she fails to hear a slight thudding from behind her.

_To my love..._

Thud.

_I miss you so..._

Thud.

_But don't worry..._

A cloth snakes around Julia's head, soaked in unknown chemicals that she quickly and unintentionally inhales, causing her head to start swimming. Her hands grow limp and the letter floats to the ground, laying there as the unknown stranger proceeds to throw the woman over his shoulder and disappear through the window, leaving no trace of what happened. The last line of the letter is bolder, as if the person writing couldn't contain his excitement.

_We will meet in a few hours. My love. My precious. My Julia. _


	4. Fading

"_The little girl turned into a little woman, but the love he felt for her never faded with age."_

_Faded_

Beautiful. That is the room that Julia wakes up to, her eyes taking every single little detail with precision. Despite it being beautiful, it feels cold and lonely, no homely warm to entice her to a fake security. The bed she sits upon was soft, but at all at the same time hard, as if it was made purely of stone. The window is barred, the curtains loosely hanging as if to shield her from the light of day, which manages to come through the slight gap.

She rubs her raw throat and coughs. "Where am I?" she croaks. Standing up slowly, her hand trails across the smooth wood while she looks around. Her fingers brush against something cold, but of so familiar. A gasp passes her lips as she slowly gazes upon the object. It is her mother's hairbrush, beside that is a small hand-held mirror.

"Where am I?" she cries again. Her chest aches and her heart pounds against her ribs, the sound echoing in her ears. "Where am I?!"

The answer comes as the sound of the door being unlocked. Julia stifles another gasp and quickly grabs the mirror, holding it at her side as if she just finished looking at it. The door creaks open and a face appears from behind it, the same eyes and hair causing her to twitch in fear. Daniel. He is just standing there, looking shocked at something before shaking himself free of it. Instead a small smile comes across his lips as he watches the young Boyle.

He then speaks. "You've woken up early; I didn't expect you to awake until dinner."

"Why am I here?" Julia hisses, her eyes narrowing at the man while her grip on the mirror tightens. "Why did you kidnap me?!"

Daniel looks hurt. "I wouldn't kidnap you," he mumbles. "We are meant to be together, you were just taking too long. You wanted to be with me, you just didn't know."

Then he moves closer, placing a hand on her bed. "Come on Julia," he whispers, bringing his lips closer to hers. "Admit it..."

"You horrid man!" she screeches, bringing the mirror to Daniel's face. The sound of glass shattering, his horrible screams and flesh being cut brings her out of her angered state. She kicks him in the shin and moves past him as he falls, raising the broken mirror over her head and screeches. "You horrid man!"

She is going to bring the mirror down on his head. She _was_ going to. However, when she sees him kneeling on the floor cradling his face, blood splattered on the duvets along with shards of glass. She pauses. Her hand shakes uncontrollably and tears well in the corners of her eyes. She sees too much of Esma's murder in this one, she can't do it. She can't _kill_ him.

She drops the mirror and turns away. "Get out." She whispers, her fingertips peeling the top layer of skin around her lips. "Get out, get out, get out!"

Daniel does not need to be told again, as he stumbles to his feet and out the door. Not watching him go and hearing the door click as it is being locked, Julia collapses to her knees and cradles them to her chest, her body shaking with each sob. "Aunt Waverly, Aunt Lydia... are you worrying about me?"

She feels like she is fading away. No one would find her, nor would they find out how she would die.

-f-

"Just go and find her!" Waverly spat at the guards in front of her. They both nod and then leave quickly, leaving her alone with just her thoughts. With no one around to see, she wipes away some of the tears now flowing down her worried face. The back of her hand is wet, the skin glistening in the sunlight, and she quickly wipes her hand on her pants. "Julia, where did you go?"

A familiar voice calls out. "Have they found her yet?" Waverly turns and stares straight into Lydia's eyes, both pairs speaking of the same thought. She could not bring herself to speak and instead shakes her head, looking up at Esma's portrait. "They say she's just... disappeared."

"The note speaks of nothing then?" Lydia asks, her voice betraying the hopelessness she must have felt. Waverly nods and feels her lip quiver, biting back the urge to just collapse and cry her heart out. Lydia notices the small movement and moves closer to her younger sister, hugging her tightly.

The crying comes freely now. "Oh Lydia, they can't find her! They say that they most probably will never find her! Do you think..." she trails off. Lydia bites her lower lip hard, tasting the faint taste of her blood. She takes in a shaky breath and shakes her head. "No. He couldn't ha-"

"But what if he has!? He's already murdered Esma! He might have come back for Julia!" Waverly sobbed. "Julia... Julia, please come back..."

Lydia feels her heart break and joins in Waverly's sorrowful song, both of them wishing to see the young Boyle's youthful face again.

The guards waiting outside hear their crying and sigh sadly. For years they have been guarding the Boyle household and for years they watched young Julia Boyle grow up from a happy and carefree child to a terrified and paranoid woman. It pains them to think that they failed to protect her from this threat, just like they failed to protect Esma.

But one of them looks determined. "We will find Julia Boyle." He speaks proudly, his short hair showing off the many scars on his face. He is one of the oldest guards there, and the leader because of it. Unsure murmurs floats around the group as they stare at him uncertainly.

"But how?" One of the new guards asked. "She could be anywhere!"

That is true. The eldest frowns deeply and looks up at the tower in the distance, the time clearly shown to the citizens down below. They have to find her. He feels her slowly fading away.

-f-

Julia is allowed out of her imprisonment for dinner. The stairs leading down from the attic to the dining room is long and dark, a few torches barely lighting the dingy hallway down into more darkness. She has to hold onto the guard's arm for leverage in-case her foot slips, and she falls down countless flights of stairs surely to her death. She isn't going to die in here, not when she wants to see her aunts' faces again.

The light finally comes. Her eyes squints and then opens again, looking around the small hallways with much disappointment. The Brisbys' are not as wealthy as the Boyles' or even the Pendletons' as a matter of fact. The dining room was even more of a disappointment, a table not even big enough to fit ten, with Daniel sitting at the head of it. His face is bandaged and small red blotches decorate them, showing Julia where she cut him the deepest.

He isn't weary when he lays eyes upon her. "Ahhh, come here and sit," he smiles, patting the chair to his right. "You look lovely."

She sticks her chin up at the compliment and wrinkles her nose. She wore a white version of her black outfit, her shirt a cream colour to the off-white jacket and pants. Slowly, she moves and sits down, never looking him once in the eyes. "I see you haven't learned to keep your distance."

"Oh this?" he grins, pointing lazily to the stained bandages. "That was just a lovers' spat."

Her stomach churns and she pushes back the urge to gag. That wasn't what she would have called it at all, he is lucky that she can't bring herself to kill a person. She stirs her drink half-heartedly and takes a small sip, before slowly returning the cup to the saucer. Her arms cross against the soft cloth and she finally stares Daniel in the eyes.

She narrows her eyes and speaks. "I wish to go home."

"Pardon?"

"I wish to go home," she repeats herself. "You are a horrid man and I rather not spend any more time near you."

Daniel freezes; his face a mix of hurt and confusion. However, after a few seconds he grins again. "You're not going home my dear," he chuckles, twirling the spoon around his long fingers. "You will stay here with me."

"No." She ordered, her voice retaining the 'master' tone. She will not listen to him. She will go home. "I am not staying here."

"Come on now my dear, you are acting like a ch-" Daniel is interrupted by a shard of glass being thrown at him, as Julia didn't have any other sharp objects on her being. He lets out a cry of panic and immediately, she makes a run for the door. She doesn't get far though, as the guard who led her downstairs in the first place grabs her arm.

She twists and squirms under his grip. "Let me go!" she cries out. "Do you not know who I am?! I am the heir to the Boyle name and I order you to let me go!"

He does not listen. Instead he drags her kicking and screaming back up the stairs, her screams echoing through the hallways as if she is a ghost. Her door is slammed open and she herself was thrown back in, the door closing again and the tell-tale sound of it locking heard. She jumps to her feet and runs to the door, slamming her small fist hard against the wood.

"Let me out! Let me out now!" No one returns. She could not hear the _thump-thump-thump _of the heavy leather boots that the guard wears. Eventually she gives up trying and moves back to her bed, lying down and facing the window. The pale moonlight beams through the gaps between the curtains and highlight her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She let out a sob. "I want to go home."


	5. Blind

"_Love is blind. You never see the damage you have done until it is too late."_

Blind

_It feels like months, and yet it has been weeks. That is how long I have been spending in this cursed attic. He hasn't let me out ever since I tried to escape. He says that I can't be trusted; no matter how much he loves me._

_Love._

_Love is blind._

_Love is useless._

_Where has love gotten me? Where has it gotten my mother? Dead. Kidnapped. I can't take it anymore; I can't live like a prisoner waiting for the sweet relief of death. I have planning this for a few days, planning to take my life. _

_I don't want to do it. I want to see my aunts' faces again. But with passing second, I feel like my existence is being erased from memory. It hurts. It hurts knowing that my aunt Waverly will mourn and my Aunt Lydia will most probably arranged the funeral, one without a body in the coffin. I know they will be strong though, they have each other, and I have no one._

_Outsider watch over me._

_May my death be quick._

The quill rests back on the wooden table, Julia's finger sliding up and down the thin stem. Her eyes watch the letter and she checks it again. Other ones just like it litter the table and the floor, some suffering her quick saddened rage, others simply forgotten. It does not matter. However, what does matter is that _someone _has been reading them. At first, her thoughts drifted to Daniel, his panicked and fearful features clear in her mind.

Now she knows it's not him. It is someone else, someone who knows of her imprisonment up high in the Brisby tower, waiting there like some damsel in distress. The person did not come. She knew better than to wait for him to rescue her. The curtains rest on the wooden floor, pulled down in one of Julia's rages, and lays there like a person being scorned. She broke the window a few days after her attempted escape, but the bars prevented her from escaping.

Or jumping.

She thinks back to her attempts, feeling anger in how useless they were. People would visit Daniel here and sit down for dinner and conversations, all the meantime Julia would bang her fists against the door and scream for their help. No one heard her, and no one came to help her. She could have sworn that she heard her aunts' voices, asking her captor disguised as a man if he saw their precious niece. She swore that she heard him say no.

The guard would hiss. "Stop it before I cut off those hands of yours!"

But she never stopped. She never listened to his threats and continued her rebellion, and the threats turned empty and meaningless to her ears.

She continued to think when the door slowly opened. "Lady Boyle, you are allowed in the music room now." The guard says, standing by the door and never entering the room. Julia turns her head and nods slowly, placing the note along with the others and stands.

She straightens her collar, which hangs limply by her shoulders now. She hardly has any clothes of her own. Only her black clothes and white ones that belonged to Daniel's mother are suitable, only in his eyes though. She doesn't appreciate wearing dead people's clothes. "Very well, shall we go?"

The guard just wrinkles his nose at how _dead _she sounds. It is almost like all the life has slowly left her body and she is just a shell, like the ones she picked off the beach as a child in her family's holiday home. They both leave the room and into the dark hallway, the shadows dancing along the dank wall and in the corners of her eyes, the glow of the guard's torch does something to quell the dark dance.

They walk in silence. The whole house is in silence. It is unnerving and cold, there is no familiar bustling of servants like there is at home, and yet it brings no surprise to her. Daniel disappoints her. This house _disappoints _her.

A gruff voice suddenly appears. "Right here," he calls, stopping in front of a small door down the hall from her room. "Don't be too long, and try to not make too much noise."

"We wouldn't want that now would we?" Julia spits. "We wouldn't want me running back home and rat out you and your psycho employer!"

A growl is her response. "Don't push your luck." She is pushed inside and the door locks behind her. The room is even more of a disappointment to her than the dining room, no bigger than one of her closets and housing only one instrument. It is a harpsichord, like one that Lydia taught her how to play when she was but a child. She sits on the chair and her fingers slide across the keys. The tune carries through the chorus of desperation, the sounds painting a picture for those who are blind, telling her story through just the different keys.

It is almost effortless. _Almost_. But as she continues playing the instrument, the energy required becomes too much, and it slowly drains it from her. Her fingers cease playing, the tune ceases to exist and she feels blind in the midst of silence.

She pulls her fingers sharply away from the keyboard, as if it suddenly sparked alight and burned her. She glares at it, and abruptly brings her fist against it, the noise almost indescribable and non-human. Expecting the guard to come in and yell at her, Julia prepares herself for it. No one comes. Instead she faintly hears voice talking amongst each other, angry and coming her way.

One is familiar, and painfully so. "She stays here! I will not make myself any clearer!" Daniel snarls, in his voice she could detect some panic. The other is not familiar, but she gets chills just from the sound of it.

It too sounds angry. "I should have never agreed to this! She is not your personal play-toy Brisby, she deserves to go home and you deserve to be six-feet under!"

Silence. "Maybe you're right. Maybe she does deserve to go home and I deserve to die, but so do you my dear assassin. _You_ brought her here. Her misery is on _your_ soul as well as mine!"

The conversation ends there. Julia hears footsteps moving away as she guesses that the guard walked to greet the men. "Please find me," she begs quietly. "Please get me out of here."

The footsteps return. They stop in front of the door and the sound of a sword being drawn causes her to jump back in fear. The sound of swords clashing and flesh being cut, blood being spilled is all too clear to her. She covers her ears. She tries to block the sound out. She resembles the little child she feels like inside.

She feels a hand on her shoulder. "You are safe," someone spoke. "I will take you home."

Her eyes open. The man in front of her is not the guard or Daniel, both whom lay slain on the floor just outside the door. "You killed them?"

"Yes," he confirmed, his voice slightly muffled from his mask. "It was the only way."

He moves to take her hand, but she pulls it back in fear and jumps backwards, away from the man and danger. His mask triggers something inside her. A type of fear that was indescribable and not needed at this very moment. He is trying to _help_ her, so why is she so scared of him?

The man moves forward and takes her hand, neither softly like a gentleman nor roughly like a monster. "I will take you home," he repeats himself. "You will be safe there.

"No I won't," she hisses, her lip pulls back in a snarl. "You have proven that. AS long as men like you exist, I will never be safe."

He is not hurt by that, in fact he shows nothing in his body language. It is like he can take all insults Julia could throw at him and not be affected. He pulls her out of the door, not bothered by the fact that two bodies lay underneath his feet. Julia struggles over them and stops in front of the guard, kneeling down and unhooking a set of keys from his belt.

"My mother's hairbrush..." she starts, looking further down the hall. "He took it from me. I need to get it back."

The man looks down the hall as well, before he nods and walks down it with her in hand. Instinctively, she huddles closer to the source of warmth beside her, before snapping to her senses and flinches back quickly. It is improper, she shouldn't do that again. He doesn't notice or pretends that he doesn't, she really couldn't tell which one of the options are true. His hands –gloved she notes- take the keys out of hers and unlocks the door. How he knows that is the room Julia would never know.

He then stops and turns to her. "I will outside," he explains gruffly. "Call me if you need help."

Nodding, Julia slips past him and walks into the room. It is an office of some sort, but long abandoned by the sight of cobwebs and thick layers of dust. She tries to ignore the thought of spiders in here and looks at the desk. Letters dated years ago litters the creaking object, and an audiograph lies on top of them. It catches her eye.

_My dear Esma._

She widens her eyes slightly. "What?" She whispers, picking it up. "What is this?"

There is no time to answer her curiosity, as the hairbrush stares up at her from beside a long burnt out candle, the jewels shining majestically in the small sunlight that shines through the cracks in the demolished curtains. She picks it up, holds it close to her chest as if afraid to lose it again, and then turns to leave. Suddenly, the man appears in front of her and stares straight into her eyes.

He quickly speaks. "We need to leave now if we don't want the guards catching us."

"A-Ah! Alright, I have my mother's hairbrush." She stammers. The man glimpses at the hairbrush and then turns when the sound of shouting comes from just down the hall. He grabs her wrist and looks her straight in the eyes once more.

The entire world starts to spin and then they are gone.


	6. Truth

"_Some truth can heal, while others cause the most pain."_

Truth

The world spins as they leave; millions of colours blend into one, almost like the colours of paints that Anton Sokolov uses for his masterpieces. The sound is inhumane, flowing freely and unhindered in the air and rests in Julia's ears. For a moment, she feels like she is flying or falling, she couldn't tell. However, both she and the assassin feel the ground under their feet and the sound stops abruptly, leaving only the screeching of rail-carts to replace it.

She swallows and finally speaks. "This, this is not far from..." she trails, slowly. The assassin just nods in response, glassy holes in his mask looks off into the far distance.

"Home," he reveals. Only then does Julia realize that his hand is still securely wrapped around her slim wrist. Harshly, she pulls it out of his grip looks away. He however, doesn't acknowledge the movement and instead puts the hand to his side, not allowing the aristocrat even one glance. "You can make you way from here."

She turns up her nose. "Of course!" She scoffs, and pushes past the assassin to prove a point. She does not _need _him anymore. She no longer requires his presence. "Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself."

"I understand that," he speaks, the tone of his voice non-existent. "However, if you require my assistance-"

Julia turns slightly and snorts. "That is not needed."

"_If _you require my assistance," he growls, not appreciating being casted aside like some useless mutt. "Just point your finger to the floor, and I shall come. If not me then my men."

"I do not require you anymore; I do not _want _you anywhere near me." She hisses. "Leave. Before I call the Overseers assassin!"

He shows no anger. No hurt. Nothing. Instead he just nods like a mere servant being given orders and disappears into the air, the essence of dark magic almost choking Julia. It is familiar and frightfully so, but she just gulps down the urge to show fear and turns around again. The day is young and as she walks down the streets, she can see how her disappearance has affected the district. Wanted posters litters the streets like some kind of new plague, her face on every single one of them and in bold letter, it speaks of:

_Missing: Julia Boyle._

_Kidnapped and taken into the night by an unknown masked man, current location and status is unknown. If you have any information regarding her whereabouts, contact the City Watch immediately._

_Those who hold information and don't speak out will be punished._

"They waiting. They waiting for either news of my whereabouts..." she pauses, pain welling in her chest and her throat closes tightly. "...my death."

But she is _alive. _She lives and Daniel is rotting in her personal cell in his attic, she could see his body lying there, pale face contorted with fear and pain, the smell of his blood tinged in the dirty air could even be smelled now. She feels nothing about that. As far as she is concerned, he got off easy, she could have got him arrested and sent to Coldridge. She can't now, and she feels angry at that fact.

The first person she runs into is not of the City Watch. Waverly. The shock on her face as she lays eyes on her niece must mirror Julia's. Waverly looks like she sees a ghost, her once majestic blond hair is limp and dull, her eyes sunken in and bags rests underneath them. She must have been stressed beyond belief. That makes a tinge of guilt hit Julia in the stomach.

The servants by her aunt's side reflect their expressions perfectly. "L-Lady Boyle!" One of them gasps, her mouth open in shock. "You're- you're-"

"Alive." Julia finishes the sentence for her. She smiles at her aunt and then hugs her tightly, burying her face into the elder's neck and takes in her scent. The need to break down and cry like she hasn't done since childhood is immense. She remains strong though and breaks away. A small noise comes from Waverly, as if she is scared that Julia would be torn away from her again, but she holds it down successfully and instead smiles.

"Julia," she starts, her voice still holding the disbelief she is feeling. "We- I- thought that you were gone for good, what happened?"

Julia's face falls grimly. "I will tell you and Aunt Lydia once we return," she explains briefly, her eyes gazing past Waverly's shoulder. "This is not the place."

She nods and takes Julia by the hand softly, leading the heir back to her castle.

-f-

The whispers and murmurs were not like those spoken by those attending the party. They were not full of malice and hatred, but rather relief and love. The guards were ecstatic of her return and her favourite briefly bowed to her. She planted a kiss on his cheek and thanked the rest for their effort in finding her, and that she would not forget their loyalty. It was rare to find such loyal friends in the suffocating walls of nobility.

Now she sits in the trophy room with a drink in her hand. Lydia stares at the roaring fireplace, pursed into deep thought. Waverly watches Julia drink anxiously, her tongue briefly darts to her dry lips and catches her niece's eyes.

"Do not worry," she mumbles. "I'm not going to suddenly turn into my mother."

"But what-?"

"We weren't thinking that Julia." Lydia interrupts, finally tearing herself away from the hypnotising dance of the flames. "Waverly is just glad you are back. We both are."

Her sister interrupts her. "But exactly how did you get kidnapped? You were in your room and the maid just left!"

The clank of ice against the smooth glass of her cup is the only sound. Waverly's voice dies and is swallowed by the ever-hungry mass that is silence. Swiftly, Julia's eyes darts to the window and her mind plays over how the silent footsteps came from her bedroom window, the smell of the cloth and chemicals still lingering despite it being weeks.

She takes a shaky breath. "It was a Whaler-"

"An assassin?!" Waverly growls, her hands protectively holding her waist. "What would want with you?!"

Lydia turns her head and carefully places her hand on Waverly's thigh. "Calm yourself Waverly, Julia is safe, she's fine."

Snapping her head to Lydia, Waverly spits. "I know she is fine! She is right here! I want to why a Whaler kidnapped my niece!"

"He was working for someone," Julia continues, nipping at the skin at the end of her slim finger. "Daniel Brisby."

The silence resumes as the words leave her mouth, and slowly Julia could see her aunts' expressions change, one of panic and coolness to both being angered. "Him?!" Waverly snaps, jumping from her seat. "He took you?!"

"It makes sense," Lydia frowns distastefully. "He is completely infatuated with her, just like his father."

Immediately, Julia's thoughts drift over to audiograph that sits comfortably in her pocket, alongside it is her mother's hairbrush. She stands swiftly and excuses herself, feigning tiredness and ignores Waverly's questions about whether she wants the maids to run her a bath. Her feet dance up the stairs like feathers, her head elegantly brushing against the smooth hand-rail as she ascends. The hallways are flowing with the movements of the servants, their happy greetings mostly ignored by the Boyle.

The door to her bedroom creaks open and she enters. It is just like how she left it, or rather how the assassin left it, except that the note Daniel written to her is gone. Slowly, she sits down in front of her prized mirror and repulses at her reflection, not daring to look at it unless necessary. She pulls out her audiograph player from underneath the desk and places carefully on the wooden surface. The audiograph is taken out of her pocket alongside the hairbrush, but whereas the latter is placed on the desk next to the audiograph player, the former is placed inside.

She sighs loudly and presses a button that plays the audiograph. "Let's see if your whole family are sick people Daniel." She whispers. The sound starts as static, and soon she jumps as it sparks to life, the sound of a male voice speaking quickly and quietly.

_My dear Esma. My beautiful Esma. How I wish you would turn to me and ask to dance or take me out to your garden and kiss under the pale moonlight. Now I know, you will never love me, no matter how many times I try to win you over. _

_You pick everyone but _me._ That Pendleton was the only one before our Lord Regent to see the romance between the both of you. Why? Why him? I would gladly kill him, tear him limb from limb and then have you as my own._

_*The sound of a sigh*_

_Your daughter, she resembles you so. Our Daniel will not stop speaking of her. Maybe if we can't be together then our children could have that blessing. Oh how I wish to see that happen._

_Damn him! Damn that bastard! I gave him one job! Take you down to the basement where I would be waiting and then we would disappear together, no one would know what happened to you but that would not matter, we would be together forever! Outsider's eyes I would have even let you take Julia with you! If it kept you happy..._

_But you had to be drunk. You had to try and see Corvo's face. You _had to call for the guards! _Now look what happened! He returned covered in blood, your blood Esma! He apologized to me, saying that there was no way for him to take you into the basement when you screamed... And in front of your own daughter now less. _

_By the Void, I really can't do anything right. I'm just like what you called me, 'spineless', 'not a man', 'useless'. Don't worry my love... *The sound of a gun cocking*_

_...we will be together soon. _

_*The sound of gun going off*_

Julia moves to stop the audiograph when she hears the door in the audiograph open, quiet gasps that of a young child could be heard. She pauses and her eyebrows furrow together, her lips pursed together in confusion.

A young boy calls out. "Daddy? Daddy?!"

_Click. _Her finger presses against the button and her eyes widen in shock, her breathing coming through in short gasps. She couldn't believe it. The little boy was Daniel. He saw his father kill himself.

Just like she saw her mother die.


	7. Birthday

"_The little woman dreads one day out of the year; her birthday."_

_Birthday_

Months rolled by lazily for Julia; who mostly kept to herself up in her bedroom, only showing herself for dinner or social events. The guests did not know, neither did Waverly or Lydia. The month of Ice came much to Julia's dismay. She did not want the reminder of her birth to bring songs of happiness throughout the household; it was not a time of happiness for her. It reminded her not of the excitement that the birth of the heir provided, but the pain and suffering Esma went through.

The doctors told her that no more children would come. Julia was the cause of that.

She sits in front of the mirror again, staring straight into her reflection's eyes. They hold it for seconds before she pulls away, instead gazing upon `the audiograph player that hasn't yet been moved since her return. Her slim fingers play with the various buttons and then the audiograph itself. She hasn't tossed it away or burned it or thrown it in the Wrenhaven. No, she keeps hold of it and hides it where no one would dare to look.

She thinks of the words recorded onto the paper. "You had many admirers, though I would call Lord Brisby something else." She scoffs. The door suddenly opens and causes the young Boyle to hide the audiograph quickly, turning back around to see Waverly standing in the door-way, sporting her red party clothes.

She smirks and leans her body against the doorframe. "Good morning Julia," she greets. "I see you are excited for today."

"Of course Aunt Waverly," Julia lies, her teeth shining in a fake smile. "Conversing with others is how I imagine I would spend my day."

An eyebrow is raised. "Oh? Is that so? Tell me Julia, do you really think you can lie to my face and get away with it?"

She freezes, like a deer trapped in the corner by wolfhounds. She has no means to rebuff Waverly's claims, nor would she want to anyway. "I-I..."

Her aunt's face turns soft and she enters the room, sitting down elegantly on the crisp duvets and beckons Julia over with a simple wave of her hand. She obeys, moving slowly and awkwardly like a child about to be scolded. She too sits down next to the elder woman and places her hands on her lap, staring down at the floor.

Waverly's soft voice brings her eyes up. "What is wrong dear?" Julia raises an eyebrow at Waverly's choice of name. She spent so much time as a child watching her aunt converse with other aristocrats and she made one conclusion, sympathy did not suit Waverly.

"I do not wish to celebrate my birthday." She says simply, her hands clenching and unclenching as she speaks. Waverly makes a note of the actions before looking at her niece again. "May I ask why?"

A small noise, almost like crying, comes from Julia's throat. "I was _born._ I was the cause of mother's pain, and then... then the doctors said that-"

"No more children would come." Waverly finishes, the words surfacing after many years. She was there when the doctors told Esma that she could have no more children, that Julia was most likely not going to live more than a few days. She watched as her sister wept for days. She said that Esma deserved it for being a rutting hound. Had she known what she knows now, Waverly wouldn't have said those horrible words.

Julia bites the tip of her finger. "I blamed myself for it, thinking that if I wasn't conceived then maybe mother would have had a better child, a _healthier _child-"

"And she would have traded that one away for you Julia!" Waverly snaps, grabbing Julia's chin and making her look at her. "Esma _loved_ you; don't think for a second otherwise! When she found out that you would survive, she was so happy that she forgot about what the doctors told her..."

Waverly pauses and looks away for a second; her grip on Julia's chin loosens. "I blamed everyone when you were thought to die in a few days. I blamed the doctors, I blamed Esma, and I blamed the _bastard _who got her pregnant in the first place! But there was one person who I didn't blame..." she looks back at her niece and grabs her hands. "You, Julia. No one blamed you for anything, so you need to stop blaming yourself."

Julia remains silent as she continues to stare at Waverly, her confession still circling in her mind. The room falls into a silence that is like a blanket; suffocating. The busy chatters of the servants blow through the door like the chilled wind outside. Eventually she hugs Waverly and then leaves the room quickly, now eager to prepare the party. The elder woman sits there stunned for a moment and then smiles, the smile no one of the fake ones she uses on the others, but a genuine one.

She quickly follows the now excited woman.

-f-

The cold wind of the month of Ice snaps at the guests as they trudge up the icy path, moaning and howling a heathen's curse as it twists through them like a scythe through wheat. The Boyle household is like a beacon for lost sailors with the warm glow, sitting amongst the snow-covered ground that was once a colourful garden.

Julia waits to greet the guests as they blow in through the door. Her words flow though the air musically like the instruments the men are playing, and then her hands wave them away to the hall. It carries on like this until there are no more people to greet, and only then does Julia join in the dancing and discussing of the noble world.

She stands with two other aristocrats with a glass of wine in her hand, conversing deeply with them. "So the Pendleton mines have been re-opened?"

The male of the group, with well-kept dark hair and sparkling green eyes smirks. "Apparently so. The person who started it is saying to be one of the twins' bastard children, and here I thought they ate their children like savage rats!"

"Indeed!" The woman beside him laughs, it was cold and brittle and makes Julia wince slightly. "Now how old did you say you were?"

"I didn't," Julia responses, taking a sip from her glass. "Twenty-one."

The woman smile is hollow, and Julia could have sworn she saw cracks in the corners of her plump lips. "The perfect age for marriage!" That makes Julia frown briefly before the woman carries on. "Do you have any men begging for your hand yet?"

"Adelle, please." The man groans, visibly uncomfortable with her nosiness. Adelle turns her head and frowns angrily, her arms crossing her chest disapprovingly.

She snaps. "Oh hush Ramsey, Lady Boyle and I are just having a conversation!"

"I know dear but the poor girl is obviously-"

Adelle suddenly places a finger on Ramsey's chest and bends her body forward. "You always pick other people's side except mine! I knew it was a mistake to marry you!" she whispers harshly, taking her eyes off Julia. Seizing the chance, Julia slips away from the arguing couple and moves through the crowd of dancing people, weaving towards the other side with expertise. She spots Waverly talking with Lydia near the group of musicians and moves towards them, when suddenly a large hand clasps around her shoulder and pulls her closer.

She turns and frowns. "May I help you?"

The man who pulled her glares at her, his face scarred quite badly and his stature suggests manual labour. He wears relatively expensive clothes and yet looks uncomfortably wearing them, as if he is not used to such fine luxuries. He pulls her closer to him and starts to dance, all in the meantime whispering in her ear. "It's me."

At first, she is confused by the two words, but after a second she pieces the evidence together and holds her breath. She is dancing with the assassin who kidnapped her. "Let go, or I will call the guards."

"That won't be wise," he responds, his gloved hands gripping on her shoulder and waist. "I'm here to help you."

"I don't _need _help." Julia hisses, trying to pull away without making scene. The assassin has a tight on her though and makes her growl quietly. "Let go, assassin!"

He frowns. "Thomas," he speaks slowly. "My name is Thomas."

"Well _Thomas_, let go of me." Julia snaps, finally freeing herself and walking away through the crowd. Thomas curses under his breath and follows her, trying to pass through the crowd when one of the younger ladies takes him away to dance. He spots Julia in the corner of his eyes and frowns, holding the dance out.

Julia meanwhile escapes to the garden for fresh air. The cold breeze makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and goose-bumps form on the surface of her arms. She hugs herself in an attempt to stay warm and looks upon the winter-land that is her garden. The trees sway slightly and the clock tower struck midnight, loud chimes softly ringing in her ears. She stays like this for a few moments, and then she heard someone opening the door.

She sighs angrily. "I swear Thomas, if it's you-" she stops when she fully turns around, seeing not Thomas but another man standing there. "Oh. And you are...?"

"Nobody," the man answers. "Who is this Thomas?"

Julia bites her cheek as she shakes her head. "Nobody."

The man nods. "I see, and you are Julia Boyle?" He asks. Julia raises her eyebrow at the question before nodding slowly, uncrossing her arms. The man looks pleased at his discovery and moves forward quickly, too quick for her comfort. She instinctively takes a step back and breathes sharply. "What do you wan-?"

She is interrupted when the man grabs her slim neck, pushing her into the balcony roughly. Her hands shoot up and claw at his thick wrist, strangled cries coming from her mouth as she begs him. He ignores her and brandishes his sword, the steel catching her eye and making her body tense with primal fear. He moves to gut her like a fish when he suddenly throws her to the side, the sound of steel hitting each other is the only she hears as she hits the ground.

She coughs violently and then turns to see Thomas, a sword in his hand and connecting with the man's sword. The man scowls darkly and pushes forward, snapping in Thomas's face. "You bastard! What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same thing," Thomas rebuffs, pushing on his sword as well. "Tell me Jenkins, what would Julia's death accomplish?"

Jenkins releases his hold and side-steps, watching Thomas stumble a bit and then turn. "Not just Julia's death, the whole Boyle family will fall tonight!"

"What?! No!" Julia cries, trying to stand while coughing again. Jenkins looks over at her and makes a move towards the woman, before Thomas blinks between them. He growls and attacks Jenkins, managing to pin him against the balcony with his blade at the assassin's throat. "This isn't the plan! We were meant to protect the Boyle family, not eliminate them!"

"Your plan maybe," Jenkins spits. "But not ours. You're no leader Thomas; you're not like Master Daud. He led us to what we were, famous killers who had protection and coin. What did you do? Allow dozens of our brothers to die by the blade of those Overseer bastards! You escaped into the night with a handful of others, leaving us to rot!"

Thomas cringes at the words. "There was nothing I could do... the Overseers came when I was busy dealing with Lurk. What would you have done?!"

"I would have tried! I wouldn't have abandoned my men to die in the Flooded District!" Jenkins shouts. "I would have been a better leader than you could wish to be!"

Thomas leans forward and growls. "And do you think trying to tossing the Empress of her throne is a smart move? What you're doing Jenkins will only bring chaos, we are finally entering a golden age for outsider's sake!"

Jenkins clenches his hand and blinks out of Thomas's grip, appearing a few feet in front of him on the snowy ground. He raises his hand and flexes two fingers, before blinking out of view. Thomas waits for a few seconds and watches as a group of assassins escape from the house-hold. He sighs deeply and turns to Julia, who is just standing there frozen. He hears the familiar sound of black magic and turns, spotting one of his men appearing beside him.

The man bows to his master and speaks through his mask. "The other traitors have retreated to their den Master Thomas; the other Boyle ladies are safe."

"Good," he speaks. "Tell the others that Jenkins plans to eliminate the supporters of the Empress."

The assassin nods and disappears, leaving Thomas and Julia alone. They are silent for a few minutes, the sound of the wind sounding louder than usual. Eventually he nods to Julia and then disappears, the faint sound of whale songs resting in her ears as she watches the spot where he was just a second ago.

Then she finally collapses to her knees and weeps.


	8. The Noblest Way

_"The noblest way to die, is to die protecting your child."_

The Noblest Way

Julia sits there. She always sits there. The letters that Thomas has sent her lay sprawled across her desk, the writing scruffy and near enough illegibe, meaning she is growing a headache from trying to comprehend what they speak of. Eventually she cracks the code and manages to understand the seriousness.

_The traitors are picking them off. The ones who sworn their alleigence to Emily the Wise are being picked off like flies. We will try and keep your family safe, but I strongly suggest you heed my advice Julia. Leave Dunwall and escape to Serkonos._

_Listen, I do not think my men can hold off Jenkin's for eternity._

A hand reaches up to her eyes as Julia rubs them. "Outsider's eyes," she groans. "Can this get any worse?"

"Julia?" Lydia calls from outside the young woman's bedroom door. "Daniel's funeral..."

Her hand never leaves her face as Julia waves her other dismissively. "I do not care. Please, leave me be."

Lydia stays by the door, watching the heir before her worry about their safety. She did not notice anything wrong at the party, but after Julia returned from outside sporting new bruises on her neck and a terrified expression, the elder Boyle was quick to kick the guests out on their behinds. When her neice told of the assassins, how her and Waverly nearly died without Thomas's men interruption, they were quick to suggest getting out of the city or stop funding the Empress.

Julia disagreed with them. "I am not a coward," she hissed. "I am a Boyle woman. You two... I cannot bear to think about if I lost you as well as my mother, please go to Serkonos with Thomas's men. I will be alright."

Waverly practically bit her head off for even suggesting such a thing!

Julia looks up at Lydia thinking about the events before and glares. "Leave," she snaps. "I have work to do."

"You have too muc-"

"Aunt Lydia, please leave me in peace."

Lydia stops as Julia looks away, her eyes scanning the letter from the Whaler. With a nod and a sigh, she left the heir alone with just her work, the sound of the door closing is the only response Julia recieves from her aunt. The room falls into a eerie chorus of silence. The rustles of paper being moved to the side and a sigh soon joins in, but quickly die down before being given a chance.

Slim fingers move up the pale skin of Julia's neck, stroking the old bruises from nearly a week ago. As she carries on with the movement, the familiar song of dark magic fills the room, whales moaning through the series of sounds as she imagines them swimming through the air above her effortlessly.

And then the voice comes. "You are trying my patience, Julia."

"Oh?" she raises an eyebrow. "I didn't know you possessed such patience."

Thomas stands there, his broad shoulders tense from the current stress the both of them are under, his scarred face free from the whaler mask. His eyes narrow for a second, until he turns away from the annoying woman and instead faces the window, looking at the bustling streets of Dunwall below.

Julia sits there bored, and then decides to speak. "So, will you tell me something about yourself? Considering we are working together and all I know is your name."

"And my occupation," he includes, turning his head slightly to gaze upon the Boyle. His hands are neatly tuked behind his back and he stood tall and straight. "Maybe when the time is right."

Julia nods slowly and then looks at the floor troubled. "You know a lot of things about the citizens of Dunwall, what about me?"

Thomas stiffens as he looks back to the window, beofre he manages to relax his shoulders slightly. "I know many things about you, Julia Boyle."

"Such as?"

"Your birth, your illness, your life in general," he lists, never once sparing her a glance. "I know of your mother and your aunts, I know of Daniel and Sebastian. I know of your father..."

He trails off slowly and then looks at Julia, who is staring thoughtfully at the mirror. She then looks him in the eye and stands, walking slowly to the assassin, her steps meaningful and never without purpose. "I never knew him. How could you possibly...?"

"The nobility know many things, how to keep secrets is not one of them." Thomas shrugs, and then too looks at the mirror. "Master Daud taught us how to learn these secrets, how to see things that were not there, and how to keep secrets like you would die if they were found out."

Julia trails her fingertips along the fabric of his uniform. "You seem to hold this 'Daud' with great respect, may I ask who he is?"

Thomas looks at her, somewhat shocked that she would ask him who Daud is, as if it is the most obvious thing in all of the Isles. "Master Daud is -was- the leader of the Whalers, he actually was the one who created us, us who were just street-rats and thieves..." he trails off, and then smiles slightly at the memory. "Jenkins was one of my friends, along with Lurk as we grew up but then, then we were given the orders to murder the Empress."

"Empress Jessamine?"

"The exact one. We succeeded, and yet Master Daud changed. I noticed, Jenkins noticed, Lurk noticed. It was not long before she betrayed him, betrayed us, and tried to take power of us," he speaks, his hands clenching and unclenching. "She lost the fight and yet Master Daud spared her, saying that she should leave the city of Dunwall, and so she did."

"But you told Jenkins that-"

Thomas turns his head and stares straight into Julia's sapphire eyes. "She learnt that Daud had left us for retirement, and returned to seize control. She said that she would carry on Master Daud legacy, she laughed when she found out that I was to lead the whalers."

"She did not believe you to be worthy..."

"Not many did. Jenkins stayed loyal to me until I had to deal with Lurk. She was making my managment of my assassins near impossible. I am not marked by the Outsider, and as such the new novices did not possess the powers the elders did, and she fanned the flames of jelously within the ranks." Thomas stops and looks at the door, waiting to make sure no one is listening in on their conversation.

Julia too looks at the door and waits, before Thomas continues. "I killed her. I do not regret what I did, but she betrayed us again before she died. The Overseers attacked us at our weakest moment, when no one considered each other an ally, many of the novices were killed and the elder whalers fled into the night. I tried. Outsider knows I tried."

"But it was not enough," Julia finishes, her eyes downcast at the blade by his side. "You tried to comand your assassins, and yet they would not listen to someone who no one thought was fit to be leader."

Thomas softly grabs her chin and lifts her head. "Exactly. Jenkins watched as the youngest died, I can only suggest that it changed him, he never harmed young children or woman. I was scared that everyone would either die or be captured and so escaped with those who would listen, Jenkins did not listen and remained in the Flooded District, with others who survived that night."

As he finishes his tale, the grip on Julia's chin diminishes and her hand reaches for his wrist. They share a moment when their eyes connect and she raises an eyebrow playfully, her soft lips pulls into a pout.

Thomas chuckles. "You truly are-"

A scream come from the floor below. Pure fear washes upon Julia's face as she pushes from Thomas and runs out of the room, sliding across the floor and running down the grand staircase gracelessly. She freezes as she reaches the bottom, the scene before her casues her heart to stop.

Standing there over the corpse of a whaler, is Jenkins. His eyes burns into hers from behind his mask, his grip on his sword that is splattered with blood tightened, and he moves like the devil himself as he nears Julia. She takes a step back and looks past him, spotting Lydia on the floor and Waverly by her side, blood in a small puddle beside them.

She freezes and then calls out. "Aunt Lydia! Aunt Waverly!"

Jenkins raises his hand and Julia could feel herself being pulled towards him unwillingly, she fights against it and tries to keep the distance, but the pull is too strong and she is dragged quickly towards him.

Waverly watches this and tries to stand, but the wound in her leg is too painful. "No, leave Julia alone you brute!"

Julia watches the blade coming forward and closes her eyes, waiting for the cold sting of metal in her chest or stomach. Then she feels strong arms pushing her away. She collides with the floor and opens her eyes quickly, seeing Thomas in front of Jenkins and his sword by his side, before he pulls away with a grunt. Only then could she see Jenkins' sword protruding out of Thomas' shoulder.

He grunts. "And here I thought you don't harm woman and children."

Jenkins doesn't reply and moves in to further harm Thomas, but then the assassins loyal to the true leader appears with swords drawn, waiting for Thomas to give the order. He looks around and then blinks out of the room, back to whatever hole he crawled out of.

Julia watches the whaler for a second before moving past him, kneeling by Lydia and Waverly. "What happened?" she asks, her voice wavering as she studies the extent of Lydia's injuries.

"They just appeared," Waverly looks over at the corpse. "When that man appeared. That one who nearly killed you showed from thin air and murdered him, and then stabbed Lydia... stabbed her in the stomach."

Thomas moves towards the three and kneels beside Julia, moving his hands over Lydia's wounds, and then frowns deeply. "They are serious," he explains, looking up at Waverly. "There...There is nothing I can do for her."

"No..."

A twitch comes from Lydia as she looks up at Julia, and then smiles. "He-He was looking for you... I stopped him..."

"Oh Lydia, you stupid twat!" Waverly gasps, grabbing her sister's hand. Lydia grabs the warm gloved hand tightly and then laughs softly. "If I had found a lover and had a child... I would have been very grateful if it was like you... both of you."

Lydia says no more, and the hand grabbing Waverly's slowly softens, which brings tears to the remaining to Boyle woman. Julia chokes back a sob while Waverly shakes her head, stroking Lydia's peaceful face slowly while tears falls onto the blood-splattered floor, mixing in with the red liquid.

Thomas hangs his head slightly and closes Lydia's eyes, muttering something under his breath. "Julia, I-"

"No more," she interrupts him. "I don't want no more blood-shed, I will stop funding the Empress."

Waverly looks at her and frowns. "Julia, think about what you are doing."

Julia looks up at her and she could see clearly how far the heir has fallen, her eyes no longer holds any kind of spark and her skin turns more pale then Waverly thought possible. "I will not fund the Empress anymore."


	9. Misery

"_Misery causes someone to perform the most questionable acts."_

_Misery_

The salty smell of the sea fill Julia's nostrils as she stands on the dock, overlooking the harsh rolling of the waves; them crashing against the edge of land roughly. The cry of seagulls sound far above her head. The moans of distant whales swimming in their underwater sanctuary carry along the ragged movements of the waves. The wind blows freely and catches her coat, the ending trailing behind her being like the tail feathers of a bird.

She looks upon the boat with an emotionless expression. "She will be safe in Serkonos," she speaks, turning around to Thomas, who is too looking at the boat. "But why must you go?"

Thomas looks at her and walks closer. "I need to find someone who will help me with Jenkins," he explains, as he has done many times before this moment. "Do not worry, for my men will watch over you with their lives."

"I do not want _them,_" Julia growls. "I want _you._"

Thomas allows a small smile and looks past the young woman, spotting Waverly slowly walking up to them, staring at the two with an expression that suggests that she doesn't want to be here. With haste, he moves past Julia and leads Waverly to her niece, giving the two a moment together while he goes and converses with the captain.

Waverly watches as he leaves before turning to Julia. "Why are you staying here?" her voice is a hoarse whisper. "Please, come with us."

Julia crosses her slim arms across her chest and smiles sadly. Her aunt has taken a turn for the worst as far as she could see; her blond hair is thin and limp while her skin a deathly pale, her body broken and a shell. A shell that traps the beautiful and powerful woman Julia grew up knowing, and instead replaces her with a scared and ill woman. "You know I have to stay here."

Waverly recoils as if struck hard, and then softly nods. She doesn't touch Julia or even looks at her as she walks to the boat, boarding it alongside Thomas and moves out of sight, while the assassin looks down at Julia. He waves briefly as the boat lurches forward and breaks away from the docks, and from Julia. She stands there. Watching. The boat soon disappears from view and yet she remains there, waiting to see if somehow the boat would come back and she wouldn't be alone anymore, but that doesn't happen and she knows it.

She stands there until an assassin transverses beside her. "Lady Boyle," he greets. "I am afraid that Her Royal Majesty Emily the Wise has arrived at your household and wishes to speak to you."

Julia feels her shoulders tense and nods. "Very well."

-f-

Emily sits in a plush chair with Corvo by her side, the latter stroking his gristle chin thoughtfully; a habit that came along with age. The Empress however, is nervous to say the least. It shocked her to find out that the Boyle family was the name amongst others to stop funding her. She couldn't bring up the subject of treason; something her faithful Lord Protector wasn't afraid to bark. Now she sits in the Boyle household, surrounded by men who killed her mother and kidnapped her, awaiting the return of the heir anxiously.

The voice of Corvo is the first thing she hears after the long silence. "I do not trust these men Emily," he growls, keeping an eye on the youngest whaler, who looks away in response. "I will never trust them."

Emily raises her chin and looks over at him. "That makes the two of us Corvo."

Corvo frowns deeply and remains stiff in his chair. Emily following his actions like she did as a child; playing with a strand of her dark hair. The Lord Protector spots this and taps her hand away. "Stop it. If you keep doing that, your hair will-"

"Will grow thinner, I know Corvo."

He smiles slightly and then frowns, standing up quickly and face the door with his hands behind his back. Confused, Emily turns her head and spots Julia moving gracefully through the door, an assassin by her side like a servant. She bows her head to the Lord Protector and the Empress. "My Empress," she starts, straightening her slender form. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"I think you know already," Corvo scowls. "You have stopped funding the Empress!"

Emily rises and places a hand on his shoulder gently. "Calm yourself Corvo."

He stares at her and then nods softly, before gazing back at Julia, who stares straight into his onyx eyes. With an innocent smile and a soft voice, Emily continues to speak in place of her life-long friend. "We are just curious as to what prompt you to-"

"I lost everyone because I was your funder," Julia interrupts. "My aunt Lydia died not a week ago and I just had to send my aunt Waverly to Serkonos to avoid the killer's blade. So there, that is my reason."

Corvo glares at the bluntness from her words and she sees his hands -gloved like Thomas'- clench tightly. She's treading on thin ice now. Emily doesn't seem hurt or offended by the Boyle's harsh words, instead her eyes contains a trace of... remorse? Pity? She does not know, nor does she care. "I am truly sorry for your losses, I understand-"

Julia snaps her head back at the Empress. "You know nothing!" she cries out, her mind screaming at her to be quiet. "You may have lost your mother my Empress but how about your aunts? Your life? Are you able to walk freely without the fear that someone could come and gut you like they did with my mother?!"

Emily raises her eyebrows in surprise and then frowns, Corvo meanwhile looking somewhat guilty and enraged at the same time. Without giving them the chance to reply, Julia looks at the floor and bites her nails. "Do you see him? Your mother's murderer? I see him every night, ever since I first saw him with my mother..."

Emily looks sympathetic and moves towards the Boyle. "Yes. I do," she replies. "And let me tell you something, when I found out that he lives to this very day, I was full of anger and hatred and all I wanted was for him to experience a truly painful end. Not very fitting for the 'wise' Empress."

She laughs. It is the kind of laugh Esma had when she was playing with Julia when she was but a child. The laugh dies out and the awkward silence soon sets in, only the deathly chorus of dark magic blowing through the air like the breeze. Julia clears her throat and glances at Emily. "I am sorry Empress, but until the murderer is taken care of then I will not fund you. I-I don't want another funeral on my conscious, let alone if it's mine."

Corvo moves forward and places a calloused hand on Emily's shoulder. "So there is a traitor."

"Indeed," she agrees. "He was the one to kill Lydia and force me to send Waverly to Serkonos."

Emily bites her lip slightly and wraps her arms around her thin waist. "If this is true, then he is aiming at you next."

One of the senior whalers comes forward and bows to Emily, not seeing her back away slightly and Corvo moving forward protectively. "May I speak your Empress?" he asks, and then continues when she reluctantly nods. "We will be protecting Lady Julia Boyle while Master Thomas is gone."

"Gone?" Corvo speaks up. "Where has he gone?"

The whaler turns slightly to him and crosses his arms. "He went to Serkonos with Lady Waverly Boyle to bring back Master Daud."

"I forbid it!" Emily hisses, resembling nothing like the fair and graceful Empress she is. "I don't want that murderer back in my city!"

The whaler moves more nervously now as he wrung his wrist slowly. "But your Empress, Master Daud may be the only one who can help us with Jenkins!"

Corvo closes the space between him and the whaler and stands against him, his superior size and stature the very meaning of intimidating. "So you know the traitor?"

The whaler stands tall as well, though not coming close to Corvo's height. "Yes Lord Protector, Jenkins' is a traitor to the whalers along with a group of others. We are working hard to stop him."

"And how do we know to trust you?"

"You have too," Julia interrupts, moving between Corvo and the whaler. "But we need Daud to help us. I want Jenkins dead as I suspect you do too Empress."

Emily doesn't speak a word as she gazes at the nearby painting thoughtfully, her fingers grazing her bottom lip lightly. Corvo doesn't ever look at the painting, as if he could not bear to look at the hidden woman forever imbedded in the fine canvas. Eventually the Empress speaks. "Very well, but I do not want him near Dunwall Tower or me."

Julia bows. "As you wish Empress."

Emily spins back around and brushes past Julia, Corvo close and never leaving her side as they leave the building, not once glancing back at the Boyle household. Julia stands strong until the door closes in the distance, and only then does she collapse into the chair that previously held the Empress, brushing a stray dark hair away from her eyes. Finally for the first time today, she feels the sting of loneliness and misery in her chest, slowly spreading throughout her body like a cancerous disease.

The whaler walks to her side and stands there. "Shall I leave you in peace Lady Boyle?"

She gazes up at him and inhales a deep breath. "No," she sighs, gesturing the whaler to sit in the chair next to hers. "Please stay, I can't bear to be left alone."

"As you wish."


	10. Memories

"_Memories are hidden doorways."_

_Memories_

Weeks. She has never felt so alone during these weeks; the empty sounds of black magic provide no comfort for her, and the presence of the Whalers doesn't quell the gnawing feeling of loneliness. Julia walks blindly through the Boyle house-hold, so confused on what to do. Only when the third week passes by does she decide to go to the music room.

The room looks untouched. Untouched by dust and germs but also untouched by humans, the smell almost stale from the windows never being opened, and the picture of the three Boyle sisters hanging proudly over a fireplace.

Julia does not look at it.

She instead opens the window and frowns as the smell disappears out of the new opening, almost smelling essence of Lydia too being lost in the large world. Her fingers slide down the wooden frame and across the glass pane, droplets of rain almost trailing after her fingers. She then leans her head against the window, listening to the distant chimes of the clock tower, the shouts of the City Watch below and the happy bustling of citizens carrying on with their lives.

She takes a deep breath and sighs. "I hate the rain," she whispers. "So did mother."

-f-

"But what about Julia?" Esma pointed out, her eyes darting over to the sick child sitting near the fire. "I can't leave her alone."

Waverly stared at her reflection whilst bringing a hairbrush through her golden mane, not looking at her older sister as she spoke. "Esma you need to go. The Boyle family has a powerful position and if we don't show it off, people will think we are going _soft._"

Esma fiddled with her gloved hand anxiously. She looked over at Julia again; the small child staring into the flames that licked the air, the glow of the fire highlighting the features of her daughter. The sound of rain hitting the glass pane was the only sound in the room, that and Julia's harsh wheezing. "But it's raining."

Waverly stops brushing her hair and turns to her sister. "Really Esma?" she frowns. "Stop being such a child."

Furiously, Esma stomped over to the door and left the three remaining Boyles alone. Lydia shook her head disapprovingly, not at Esma's childish behaviour or Waverly's bluntness, but at the fact that the two couldn't get along like the sisters they were. Julia coughed and stood up, shuffling over to her aunt and pulled softly on the sleeve of her red shirt. "Aunt Waverly?"

Said woman gazed down at her niece and smiled softly. "What is it Julia?"

"Does mommy have to go to the party?" she asks, staring up like a curious wolfhound pup. "I don't want to be alone..."

Waverly realized what the young child was doing and goes to turn her head away, but Julia proved faster and pouts sadly, her eyes big and watered a little. Staring for a few seconds, Waverly frowned deeply and sighed, picking the young heir up and balancing her on her knee whilst resuming brushing her hair. "I don't like it when you use that look on me."

"But you said to play peoples' heartstrings to get what you want," Julia pointed out. "Didn't you?"

Waverly paused. She had the woman there, and she growled mentally at herself for being caught off-guard by a child, though she had to give her niece points for pulling off such an amazing feat. "Esma can stay here, but only this once."

The grin on Julia's face shone so brightly that Waverly could have passed it off as the sun. Small legs hit the floor and before she could react, Julia was running out of the room to inform her mother of the change of plans. Slim fingers played with golden curls and Waverly once again stares at her reflection, at least she wouldn't have to deal with the promiscuous sister at the party tonight.

Lydia spoke out for the first time that evening. "Like mother, like daughter."

"Yes..." The youngest sister replied. "I can see where the hatred for rain has come from."

-f-

The smell has long disappeared as Julia continues to stare out of the rain-splattered window. She tears her gaze away and sits down in a plush chair, her slim body sagging into the plump cushions and luxurious silks. She stares into the fireplace -now lit- and plays with a jewelled necklace that sits around her fragile neck, the gems shining in the whale oil-powered lights, and giving off a spectrum of light.

For a while she sits there. Her eyes never tear away from the dancing of flames, and from the way the heat beats against her face as she leans forward on her arm. When it proves tedious to stare any longer, she instead turns her head slightly and looks at another painting donning the wall; one of herself when she turned ten, just a few months before her mother's murder.

She smiles to herself and plays with one of her gloved hands. "I hated that man," she mutters to herself. "Mother had some trouble keeping me still for the painting."

-f-

"Julia, please keep still!" Esma shouted, her soft hands gripping hard on her daughter's shoulders, trying hard to keep the girl from squirming about. With a red face, Julia proved to be stubborn and refused to sit still for a man who was as horrid as Anton Sokolov.

She stared straight into her mother's eyes and yelled. "No!"

"Julia Boyle!"

She didn't to listen to the rest of Esma's scolding as she screams. "No! No! No! No! I don't want to sit still for hours!"

Waverly watched on from the sidelines as her sister continued futilely to keep Julia from running away, her made-up face scrunched up in embarrassment. "Julia please," she spoke from behind a hand that she covered her face with. "It won't be too long."

Lydia then joined in on the convincing of the young heir. "And the sooner you stay still, the sooner it will be over."

The look on the child's face when she ceased squirming made everyone cry out in relief, her eyes emotionless as she calculated the benefits from what she had to do, and she did not appreciate being painted by a man who looked like a tall, half-shaven bear. Biting her lower lip softly, she slowly nods and sits up straight, feeling her mother's hands slowly lifting and frowned at the loss of the warm touch. "Alright."

Anton grabbed his paints and started to create visual magic, painting in a way that Julia thought impossible, and the Tyvian was actually enjoying it. Occasionally her eyes darted over to her mother and aunts, watching them converse quietly with each other and then look at her smiling. She felt grown up after the ordeal, like she could just become a woman like the other Boyles if she wanted too.

She soon changed her tune when Esma tried to make her eat her vegetables.

-f-

Julia stands up and looks at the painting of the Boyle sisters, before gripping onto the frame with enough pressure to turn her knuckles white, disgust written on her face like an open book ready for reading. She stares at it as she throws it into the fire, frame and all, and sits down whilst watching the canvas burn quickly. The faces of the Boyle women turn charcoal black and soon are engulfed by roaring flames, the heir swearing she could see red paint flowing down the remainder of the painting.

Red.

Like the colour of blood.

Like the colour of _Esma's _blood.

-f-

A gasp. A shudder. A call of Esma's name. Julia had another nightmare again and awoke in a cold sweat, grabbing her doll tightly as if she could have lost it, and looks around the dark room slowly. The light from the hall outside proved to be the only source, laughter and chatter coming from downstairs proved that the party was still going on, meaning that Julia was not allowed downstairs to search for her mother.

She whimpered and moved to the edge of the bed. "I'm scared."

She pulled back the sheets and slowly, touched the cold floor with a small gasp. She had another fit not two days ago and was still wobbly on her legs, but she managed to walk to the door and open it, looking out to see if any servants were around. There was no sign of them and so she crept out of her bedroom, slinking to the grand staircase like an agile cat.

She looks down and spotted Aunt Waverly talking to two other people. "Well little Julia is still sick in bed," she sighs sadly. "The fits are becoming more frequent in the cold months."

One of the conversers, a woman wearing a moth mask, gasped loudly. "Oh the poor thing! So sick at such a tender age!"

"Indeed," her male companion agreed, taking a sip of her wine. "And Lydia is looking to the Strictures for guidance."

Julia paid no more attention to the conversation as the three walked away from the staircase, the ten-year-old seizing her chance and running down the stairs before moving out of sight. She looked around the large hall in search for her mother, but was only confronted by bizarre masks and even bizarre people, all cooing and awing at the heir.

She finally plucked up the courage and asked one of the guests. "Do you know where my mother is?"

The guest, sporting a creepy doll-face mask, looked down at the young girl and then points to the library. "She's in there, Lady Boyle."

Julia thanked the woman and walked towards the library, pushing her way through the tight cluster of guests that were talking to each other, and paused at the doorway as she could hear Esma talking to someone. "Maybe I should wait until she's finished talking."

"So dear, what brings you to my party?" That was Esma speaking, a drunk drawl edged her voice.

"Lady Boyle, may I suggest that we continue this conversation in the basement?" That was a voice that Julia didn't recognize, but sounded foreign and very uncomfortable.

"Oh? And what shall we be doing there that we can't do here?"

"Please Lady Boyle, I strongly sugge-"

The man was caught off by his own yell, and the sound of metal hitting the floor was clear, before Esma's gasp accompanied it.

"O-Oh no," she stutters, the sound of her footsteps moving further away from the doorway. Julia heard the scrape of metal from the floor, and knew that the man's mask must have fell on the floor before he picked it up. Esma gasps once more and then a shrill shriek makes Julia jump. "Guards! Guards! Kill this man, he's-!"

Julia picked that moment to look into the library, watching as just that moment, the masked man drew his sword and impaled Esma in the gut. A shocked cry escaped her before she could stifle it and both adults turned their heads. The masked man's body stiffened and he pulled out his sword, allowing Esma to collapse to the floor undignified and Julia to run up to her dying mother.

She grabbed her shoulder and shook it. "Mother! Mother!"

The sound of footsteps came closer to the library and the masked man stared down at the sobbing child, before he disappeared into the night, leaving the essence of dark magic in his wake. The footsteps stopped and Julia could hear her aunts cry out in fright, the scene before them silencing everyone. She looks up at Esma's face and sees that she is still alive, but unable to speak. Instead she brought a hand up to Julia's face and caressed it softly, like she did whenever her daughter had a nightmare.

And then she was gone. Esma Boyle was dead.

-f-

She watches the burnt remains of the picture from her chair, her head leaning lazily on her hand and her eyes flickers in the light. Tears fall down her face slowly as she wipes them away, not wanting to think of the incident anymore. Slowly, her eyes flutter down on themselves and her chest slows as sleep begins to take her, and it would have if not for a rough hand on her shoulder.

Then Thomas' voice rings in her ear. "Wake up Julia."

"Thomas?" she yawns, blinking as she looks up at the assassin. She smiles greatly as she stares at him, before looking over to another man watching her from the window, his scarred face showing nothing that she could read. "Who is he?"

Thomas straightens himself and coughs softly, gesturing his hand over to the man who is wearing a red coat. "This is Master Daud."


	11. Patience

_**A/N- Apologies for the late update. Writer's Block.**_

"_Patience is a virtue, possessed by many few."_

_Patience_

Daud has become more withdrawn than before when Thomas found him in Serkonos, hidden away like a clever fly in Karnaca. He would not go back to Dunwall. Not even when Thomas literally begged him and explained what Jenkins has done to the Whalers, to the organization that the old man brought from the dirt and moulded in-between his gloved hands, Daud responded. "Why do you need an old man who cannot even murder a woman without feeling regret?"

Thomas was taken aback by the question and wrung his hands. "Because you made me who I am, I am not you Master Daud. I am not a leader like you."

"No," he agreed. "You're not. No one is me Thomas, and no one is you. We all make our mistakes but it is up to us to fix them. I cannot help you with this."

Gloved hands clenched tightly and Thomas turned his masked face slightly to the side, willing himself to calm down. "I cannot stop him Master Daud; he has already killed someone whom was very close to someone I care about."

That raised Daud's attention. Thomas actually _cared _for someone? For the many years he knew the young man, Thomas only strived to serve his master's command and put his own thoughts aside. "Her name is Julia Boyle," Thomas continued. "She... she reminds me of Lurk."

Daud turned his head to the grimy window and looked out onto Karnaca. His highly-tuned ears sensitive to the bustle of everyday life that carried on below, whilst his small room seemed to have stopped in time. "She is strong-willed and yet fragile at the same time, determined and yet scared of those around her."

"Just like Billie?" Daud spoke as Thomas had finished, still looking out of the window. "She sounds like a remarkable woman."

A noise that sounded like an agreement came from within Thomas' mask, before he moved closer to the old man. "I don't know how to protect her. She refuses to leave Dunwall and instead makes sure she cannot lose anyone else, without thinking on how her demise would affect those she loves."

Thomas paused for a moment, as if he sees how his words weren't affecting Daud, but he continues after that moment. "I know that nothing you do will ever atone what you have done," a grunt from Daud made him tense slightly, but he carried on. "But maybe you could try to save someone's life instead of taking it?"

"Is that supposed to make me come with you?" Daud asked, finally tearing his gaze from the window and stared at Thomas. After a few uneasy seconds and the question left unanswered, he sighed quietly and stood slowly, his gloved hand bearing his weight on the chair. "You're going to get this old man killed."

The two made sure that Waverly was safe before departing back to Dunwall. The woman sat in Daud's new home and stared out of the window, her hands resting on her lap and her face hidden by her blond locks. When she spoke, her voice was cracked and barely a whisper. "Will you keep her safe?" she asked. "If anything happens to her, I..."

She stopped and bit back a sob, her hands clenching together and shaking terrible. Unsure of himself, Thomas rested a gloved hand on her shoulder and nodded slowly. "We will try Lady Boyle."

They both left with the sound of Waverly's crying ringing in their ears and the names of her sisters fresh in their minds. They had given up hope of her ever bouncing back from the deep pit of depression that she had sunken into, they never really expected anyone who went through what Waverly did to carry on like they used to. There would always e that pain in their heart, a pain that would never be filled.

When they finally reached Dunwall a week later, they found Julia resting with tear-stricken cheeks and a burning painting of what looked like the Boyle sisters.

-f-

Julia sits in her chair with a cup of tea in her hands, the steam rolling upwards and flicking carelessly in the air before disappearing, a slight heat beating against the tip of her nose as she blows against the hot liquid, small waves rolling across the surface. She takes a small sip and sighs, placing the cup back on the table and crosses her hands, becoming a powerful and graceful woman in the blink of the eye.

Thomas sits on the arm of her chair and watches as she stares at Daud. "I am grateful that you have come to us," she starts, a small genuine smile playing the corners of her lips. "I wish for this monster to be disposed of."

Daud says nothing and instead goes to staring at his cup of tea, long gone cold. Thomas instead decides to speak in his place. "We left your aunt in Serkonos where she will be safe, she wants Jenkins' demise as much as you do."

"I know." Julia simply says, looking sadly at the roaring flames. "When will that happen Daud?"

Said man rubs his gristle chin out of habit and grabs a cigar from his pouch, placing it between his lips. "I am not talking about that right now."

"Excuse me?!" Julia snaps, glaring at Daud with a scowl. "I am talking about it right now. How long?!"

Daud raises his face and the look in his eyes makes Julia regret her outburst, an involuntary shiver climbs up her spine as she shivers slightly. Thomas shakes his head and wrings his wrists again, the third time that hour. "Julia means no disrespect Master Dau-"

"But she did," he cuts in, his voice cool and muffled slightly from the cigar. "Patience. I don't tolerate traitors in my ranks and Jenkins will be taken care of."

Tense shoulders soften ever so slightly and torn up features seem a little less painful, Julia leaning back into her chair for the first time since she woke up. She stares at the cup of tea and then frowns deeply, so many questions circling in her head and after that look she is too afraid to ask them. Finally she plucks up her courage again and sends Thomas out.

He moves and then pauses. "Is it alright Master Daud?"

A nod from his former leader sends Thomas moving quickly out of the room, visible relieved to be out of the awkwardly silent conversation. The sound of the door closing is the only one for a while, the two left settling on just staring at each other, though not with malice or anger. With a reserved sigh, she finally speaks. "So about Jenkins... how has it come to him finally going traitor, form what Thomas told me he was very loyal."

Daud stays silent for a moment, contemplating on whether to tell the Boyle woman or not, settling on speaking. "He was. Loyal that is, but when the plague hit some of my men grew very sick, he himself didn't die from it but it did something to his mind. Scrambled it if you may."

"How horrid," she mumbles. "I guess the plague was the only illness I didn't catch."

Daud spots something in her voice and finally looks at her in the eyes. "You say that as if it is a bad thing."

Surprised that he managed to tell what she is feeling by her voice, she turns her gaze away from the old man and stares at the fires once more. "I guess it is a bad thing," she mumbles again. "I never know where the pain will come next, whether from a fit or by losing people or by simple life. It's exhausting. I don't know how some people can do it."

Daud thinks for a while on what Julia just said and then takes a puff of his cigar. "Patience. They know something good will come, but don't know when."

"But how do they wait? Even when so much has happened to them?"

"Patience." That is all Daud says before there is a commotion outside, the old man standing up with his sword unsheathed, Julia watching from behind him. The doors bursts open with a blast of wind and standing there is Thomas, his face unmasked and twisted in horror. "The Empress," he mumbles. "The Empress."

"Emily?" she gasps. "What are they going to do?"

Daud frowns deeply and turns to Julia, his grip on the sword tightens slightly. "What I did to her mother years ago."


	12. Different

"_The little woman finds another so much like she; and yet so different."_

_Different_

Julia's heart seizes up as Daud spoke those words, her brain racing to try and form the words that would be suitable, and yet failing miserably. Her whole body shakes like a leaf in the autumn breeze. "What do you mean?"

A look of regret spreads across the old man's face as he turns away slightly, instead looking over at Thomas; who is ready to leave the manor. He doesn't speak but moves towards his successor, leaning closer to him. "This is your chance to prove yourself Thomas," he whispers. "Will you take it?"

"Yes Master Daud," Thomas agrees quickly, his shoulders tense and ready for what lies ahead. "I am the leader now..."

Julia watches the conversation with bated breath, when she suddenly speaks up. "What about me?"

The two men turn to her direction and stare, Thomas wringing his wrists and Daud merely thinking. "No," he finally says. "You will have to stay here."

"But-"

Thomas moves forward with a large stride, appearing by her side with a look of authority. "Stay Julia."

Eyes look up at him with a shocked expression; the pupils shrinking slowly and then eyelids close, as she turns her head away and mutters underneath her breath. "Fine. I will stay here."

With a softened expression and a small nod of the head, Thomas leaves the conversation there and turns back to Daud, both men exiting the room with quickened paces. She doesn't watch them leave and covers her mouth with her hand, a thoughtful look glistening in her eyes as if they were windows, and everything she is feeling is clear. The deadly silence is the only comfort for her; as no sound of black magic could be heard or seen.

She paces back and forth beside her large chair, her hand trailing over the soft velvet of the back. The smell of smoke is all but distant now as she tries to push her thoughts from the emergency, but they resist against her and squirms into her mind, becoming the only thing she could think of. Her fingertips fall victim to her teeth as she gnaws at the skin, peeling the first layer off in desperation to turn her thoughts over to something else.

The visit of the Empress three weeks ago was the only time she spoke with Emily, and that wasn't the best circumstances for a conversation. Julia could tell that the woman before her was just like her; both with their past and with their emotions. They both lost their mothers when just a child, they had someone by them after that ordeal, and they were both powerful women. However, Emily was just as different as Julia as she was similar. She was fair to her people and wise as well as kind, no amount of wishing would make Julia come even close.

She is not _fair _or _kind _or _wise_, she is cruel to those who deserve it yes, but those who don't never get so much as her attention; she does not care about them, only her family is allowed through the fortress that she built around her heart.

The flames of the fireplace uproars for a second; the swishing of the flames turning chaotic and wild before dying back down. She hasn't noticed this and carries on her worrying, her grip on the back of the large chair tightens as she forces herself to calm down, that Daud and Thomas would keep the Empress safe from harm.

Footsteps appear outside the door and then stop; the hairs on the back of her neck straighten as she watches the double doors warily, her hands moving in front of her for protection. Creaking open, a Whaler walks in with his hands behind his back. "I was just checking to see if your still here."

Raising an eyebrow, she lowers her hands slightly. "Of course I am still here, where else would I be?"

"With us." A deep voice whispers in her ear, rough hands grabbing her and engulfing her in a hug before she could even react. Her body squirms and twists in an attempt to buck the man off her, screams being cut short with a dirty cloth being tied around her mouth. Her eyes widen in fear and she feels her heart speed up, beating against her ribcage and threatening to burst out. Shadows creep up in her vision as her breathing quickens through her nose, consuming the corners before growing and growing; finally it all turns black and she can feel herself falling into the Void.

Voices could be heard but not recognized, distorted and strangulated to form something inhumane. "Dammit! Is she dead?!"

"No," another replied coolly. "She's very much alive. She is an ill woman though; we need to be careful that we don't kill her."

The last thing she can register is the feeling of being absorbed by the world, the sound of wind surprisingly loud in her ears.

-f-

Coming around after a fit is a frightful experience for Julia, the grogginess of her head and the soreness in her neck is completely normal but the feeling of rope around her wrists is certainly not normal, the chafing of it against her skin makes her eyes open wide and her senses heighten. Her head lifts up and then she winces in pain, her head pounding and feeling like it could split open like a ripened fruit.

_Plop_

_Plop_

_Plop_

The dripping of water could be heard clearly now, the sound coming from behind her and could be heard constantly. She shifts uncomfortably on what she could make out as her bed; or a very poor excuse for one. A pile of blankets tossed onto a sheet of wood is all it is, and the aching in her back is alarming. Slowly due to the pain, Julia sits up and tries to look around but the room proves too dark to see more than a few feet in front of her, a slit in the wall acting as her source of light and rays of sunlight beams through.

She swallows dryly and then calls out. "Thomas? Daud? Where am I?"

Suddenly the room turns silent. Even the dripping of the water stops as soon as the words leave her lips, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up even higher than before. Her mouth dries and she darts her tongue across the chapped surface of her lips. A panicked glaze smoulders her eyes as she tenses up; pushing herself up against the cold stone wall that acted as protection from any attacks from behind.

The thuds of heavy boots could be heard, growing closer and closer to the cell Julia found herself trapped within, causing fear to gnaw at her heart. The sunlight does very little to actually show the man, but from what she could see and the memory of what happened; she realizes that the man before her is Jenkins.

She tries to push herself further away as he leans against the bars. "Go away," she spits. "You monster, get away from me!"

A growl rumbles from within his chest as Jenkins' glares at her, his face free of his mask and the troubles he faced are clear. Scars are scattered across his face and a long thin one runs across the bridge of his nose. His chin remains unshaved and his shadow is clear in the small sunlight, his lips pull down in a frown. "What makes me a monster?"

"Excuse me?" Julia replies, taken back by the question.

Jenkins grips the bars with a tight grip. "What makes me a monster?"

A scoff moves past Julia's lips before she could stop it, her face contorted from fear to anger. "You killed my aunt and sent the other fleeing to Serkonos fearing for her life, you tried to kill me twice and then murdered one of your own."

"So I'm a murderer," he interrupts coldly. "So are Thomas and Daud and everyone you know."

Julia shakes her head and laughs a bitter laugh. "No," she sneers, her white teeth shining from amidst the darkness. "Empress Emily isn't a murderer, neither is her Protector."

The laugh from the assassin makes her feel uneasy as she watches, the sound echoing throughout the room and carries on down the hallway, long after Jenkins finishes his little outburst. "You know nothing then."

"Oh?" she retorts, moving closer to the bars. "Tell me then. Tell me something wrong about the wise Empress or her loyal bodyguard, at least they know loyalty unlike you!"

Slamming of fists against the metal bars causes her to jump back in fright, her eyes widen again and her hands twist at the rope binding them together. Jenkins controls his anger and his face returns to his normal cold expression. "Loyalty? You won't preach about that to me once you learn this."

Looking up with interested eyes, Julia tucks her legs into herself and speaks. "Well speak then, stop talking in riddles!"

"Years ago, the Royal Spymaster plotted against the Empress for the right to rule Dunwall and bring it out of the plague, and so hired our dear 'Master' Daud to carry out an assassination on her along with the abduction of her daughter; Emily Kaldwin," he pauses and watches Julia's expression change with glee shining in his eyes. "We succeeded. The young girl was hidden away and her mother dead, Burrows became Lord Regent and set his sights on cleaning the city. But he needed money and so got himself a little banker. Your mother."

"You're lying!" Julia snaps at him, his hands gripping onto the rope whilst her knuckles turn bone-white. "She would never-!"

"Never betray the Empire?" Jenkins interrupts her again. "She did, and she was also screwing the horrid man."

Chest heaving and eyes tearing up, she turns her head away from the assassin and glares at the wall. "My mother was a good woman! She was unjustifiably murdered!"

Jenkins lifts himself from the bars and moves slightly, his image in the corner of her vision. "She was murdered yes, but it wasn't unjustified. She betrayed the Empress and her daughter, she was _funding_ the man responsible for the plague in the first place!"

Memories pour into her mind as she shakes her head; memories of how she was introduced to Hiram Burrows for the first time, of how her mother would drink and cry during the night when no one could see her, and of Esma and her sisters argued about the act when Julia was taken away for lessons. "Shut up," she growls. "I don't believe you."

A cold glare from Jenkins sends shivers down her spine as she shivers. "Of course you don't, why would I believe that you would?" he scoffs. "But the person who murdered your mother was in your presence weeks ago, and you didn't even know it."

With a heavy heart, she looks over at him with a look that pleaded him to stop but to also hurry up and tell her, making him chuckle darkly and lean his face in closer. "None other than the Lord Protector; Corvo Attano."

He quickly turns and leaves the room, listening to Julia's wails of despair and agony with a grin on his face. He could sense the fabrics of her sanity unravelling within the dark void of her mind, and that would make Thomas suffer even more when he does find her. A novice appears out of the shadows and greets the leader. "Master Jenkins, what is the next step of the plan?"

With a pleased look on his face, he places his hands behind his back and stares at the young novice. "We wait. Soon enough, Thomas will return and find his love gone. Then he will pay."


End file.
